X-Com: Vahlen's Story
by NoNameMcGee
Summary: A series of murders ravage a small town in western Germany, sparking the interest of a secret undercover group. A young engineer in the team is set the task of capturing the murderer. The reason? She's the only person who can help stop aliens taking over Earth. The group? The Extraterrestrial Combat Unit, or XCOM.


The room was a mess. Most of the space in his immediate vision was strewn with haphazard piles of rubbish—stacks of paper, reports, leaflets, burger wrappers, countless bottles of soft drink. The mess betrayed the person, the creature, who lived here. That wasn't why he was here, though. Oh, if only he was here for the rubbish, a simple debt collector contacting this miserly, reclusive occupant, helping her organize her possessions so the house could be sold to the state. However, beyond his immediate vision, all was not as it seemed. There were a few piles of reports— _Extra-terrestrial and Ecological Diversion: A Comparative Study_ and _Exobiology's Necessity Regarding Origins of the Universe_ —covering up what he was here for. He leant down, trying as hard as he could to not damage any of her belongings. Yet again, he wished he wasn't here for this, wished it was something else—anything else. But still he proceeded, and lifted the papers away, revealing a hatch that was surprisingly cleaner than the rest of this mold-infested shithole.

He took a deep breath, looking up and at the window, thick drawn blinds covering the brilliantly lit sky beyond. He leant down further, his gloved hands stopping hesitantly over the handle. There was no lock, and that alone startled him. Only for a second, though—nothing would stop him from moving forward. The handle and the hatch were shiny and kempt, a bitter contrast to the rest of the room, even to him. He lifted the handle, grunting for a second at its heaviness, but persevering, his heartbeat beating faster as he did so. He peered in for a second, after a quick countdown in his head to make this go faster. If his heart was going to continue at this rate, he would never even get down there, he would never complete his mission.

He carefully jumped down, falling onto a shiny metallic table. His eyes took more than a few seconds to adjust to the light, and he cringed internally, expecting the worst. But when he opened his eyes, he didn't see anything—he didn't see _her_.

The basement was cool and clinical and everything was a different shade of gray. The table he was standing on was metallic cobalt, but that didn't really matter, because he had to stifle a gasp, and at least it didn't come out as a scream.

The scene of calm, collected bloodshed surrounded the basement, mixing the shades of gray with a terrific sheen of crimson. This was a scientific laboratory; he was sure, but… Oh, Lord. On top of the closest table next to him was a woman, but it didn't look like a woman anymore. Her face was distorted, cheeks stretch out into a garish, surgical smile. Her body was cut in half, and sulfur was leaking out of her torso and the bottom of her stomach, and he thought he could see the brief image of her intestines. Beside her, on a chair, sat a man, but his face had vanished. He supposed the face was in the fridge next to him, a gigantic stainless steel thing, or maybe somewhere in the vicinity of the desk opposite that, but it was hard to tell, because by the look of him, maybe he never had a head at all. His hands were tied to the chair crudely with rope, but that made it all the more beautiful, all the more meticulous. His mouth opened, awe overtaking his thinking processes.

Now he knew for certain: the killer lurked here. To be precise, _she_ lurked her, and she was exactly what he was looking for. He could barely believe it when he was told the truth, and it was still hard, even now, even though he was looking right into the valley of the shadow of death. He slowly made his way down to the linoleum below, nearly slipping on a yellow, watery substance that leaked there from a jar on the chair with the headless man. He looked around, reaching into his pocket with his right hand and leaning against the table for support with his left. He closed his eyes for a second, inhaling that putrid scents that emanated so roughly and viciously into his nostrils. He listened: to the echoing of his breath against the stainless steel walls, of some strange squeaking that sounded like boots somewhere in the distance, possibly behind him.

Without a second to spare, he whipped the Glock out of his pocket and turned around, and he was greeted with a grunting sound, and he saw the dark brown ponytailed hair for only a moment before the figure slipped over the yellow substance and fell to the floor. She looked up at him with not fury in her eyes, but interest, intrigue, fascination, _hunger_.

She pressed her hand to her hair, pushing it away from her face and slowly stood up, revealing herself to him.

She was a beautiful woman, there was no doubt about that. She had silky brown hair, tied up meticulously in a ponytail, leaving two neatly placed slivers of hair down the sides of her face. She had soft, pouting lips, a perfectly straight, aquiline nose and clear blue eyes that seemed to stare at you and know all of your secrets. It was easy to understand how she had lured so many people into this dungeon of hers.

"I suppose you are here to arrest me?" she said with a thickly-coated Rhine accent.

She was smiling still, and he had expected that, but he remained as stiff as ever.

He fingered the Glock, hoping it wouldn't come to that.

"Now why would I do that?" he asked, friendlier than he had wanted. "That would be a waste of your extraordinary talents."

"Then why are you here?" she said, and the suspicion was mounting, but it was almost time. He was almost ready.

"We have been watching you for a long time, ma'am," he said. "Now it is time for you to join us."

"Us?" she questioned.

There was a buzz behind her and she only had a moment to turn before five men and women wearing heavy armor appeared behind her. She gasped and the smile was finally wavering.  
"What do you want from me?" she asked, the remnants of a quiver in her tone.

He took a deep breath, but he knew he couldn't relax yet. This was just the beginning.

"Moira Vahlen," he said, and when she didn't react to his knowing of her name, he continued. "I am here as a member of the Extraterrestrial Combat Unit. I know you probably won't under—"

"X-COM," she mouthed those words, but he nodded in response.

She looked back at the guards, and shook her head.

"You are lying," she said, waving her hands in the air dismissively. "The Combat Unit is only a myth. It is a lie. It cannot be—"

"Dr. Vahlen, I'm afraid you don't have any choice in the matter. Would you prefer death?"

The woman—Moira Vahlen—let out a deep chuckle.

"Of course I would like to join your team, Sir. I have not been killing these aliens for nothing, Dr. Shen."


End file.
